


peace tastes like

by closet_monster



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Fluffity fluff, Healing, I made this very fast, Idiots in Love, SO MUCH FLUFF, hinted halloween but its more like the Day of the Dead from my country, maybe a little bit of hurt but it's so little, no hurt just comfort, soft, sweet!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closet_monster/pseuds/closet_monster
Summary: Headaches are dreadful, the day is hell and Nesta goes to bed with a sad frown. And Cassian, too soft for his own good, can't help but worry.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 18
Kudos: 120





	peace tastes like

**Author's Note:**

> HI. SO. I wrote my little headcanon about illyrians making nests for their significant other. cause they're like birds. and then I was encouraged to write a fic cause WHY NOT? And you know what? We all deserve fluff. We all deserve soft silly fluff that makes our hearts swell. So, there it is. oh. when I tried proof reading my mind woudn't work, so if you spot some grueling mistakes, do tell me and I'll fix it. other than that... I hope you can all enjoy this and have fun!

It had been a _headache._

 _Well,_ it actually had been some very bad days that built the awful tension and then, the resulting headache.

The annoying pressure that had been there from the very moment she woke up in the morning. Light, taunting. A warning to let her know that later it would be much, much worse. The afternoon had been hell enough as it was. And Nesta pushed through, of course, because headaches weren't new to her, neither was their torturous, evil intensities. And she was also a bitch hard to take down.

A bitch with things to get done.

Nesta had training and chores, hobbies, friends who would miss her if she didn't leave the house — such wild concept. It was still shocking that her closest friend, the mouthy daughter of a deceased warrior, had tracked Cassian down one day to ask if she had been fine when Nesta wouldn't leave the house for a week. _It had been her period._ Nesta had definitely doubted Cassian when he first said it, but then it happened again and again and again on different times, with different friends. Sometimes they came knocking on the door by themselves, no secondary intentions behind their actions. _Wild._

So she dressed up, of course, because what else can one do? In her softer leathers for the day and then, coming home, bathed to change into her lightest, softest dress.

It had been hell, though she kept her face schooled the whole time. It wasn't hard: one would say that Nesta's greatest abilities lay in her rueful control, _though to naked eye,_ a fool would claim that it was the murderous rage that tore from her body in the form of devastating magic from time to time.

But only a fool, of course.

The magic was nothing. The power lay in the control.

Because as she had been told over and over again by several people, the Night Court had another holiday coming up. This one, to mourn over and remember the dead. Drink in their name, light candles in their memory. Cry over the hurt all over again. And fucking hell, Nesta deigned to ask if such holiday would bring _certain people_ which she _did not_ want so see into their home, or if it would require them to go _there_ instead. And inside that variant, which was worse? Having to go against her will _or_ being forbidden to go with Cassian, so that she stayed home alone with her thoughts?

Quietly listening in while everyone around her prayed all day long, mourning their dead and forcing Nesta to remember hers.

Because of that, she often would. And thinking about things she's made such an effort to forget, Nesta was… Well. Ha. 

_Enraged._

And rage was colored white, black, it felt like flames.

It tore through her senses with violence, made her thin blue veins tighten, took all heat away from her hands. It lit her body like a fire, wove together all loose ends and those which were broken — enraged, Nesta existed.

Because enraged, all that was her was true. She came to light in the time span of a second; enraged, Nesta could and would do anything she ever meant to. Enraged, the world meant nothing and she was made out of death — not the killing, but the power of being the end of all things and the ageless dark that followed. Rage felt like ending all life and making it torturous all of the while.

It was colored white, as pale as lightning. Right in the center of the world, burning inside her chest. And then shadows darker than black, in the far corners where the fire couldn't reach; too cold to burn.

Enraged, Nesta saw herself whole, and it was a dangerous sight. Enraged, she wished to lash out and let the long buried burning fury break free from her body's cage.

Still, she never did.

And every time, she only burned harder.

Every time, it gave her a fucking headache.

It was not very nice — and perhaps an exaggeration, but was she not allowed to be mad? Go insane? Be hurt over things that hurt and made her heart ache? Because she was a woman, the world now was an unknown place, life was so goddamned strange already, her body wasn't always hers. And Nesta definitely didn't like how it seemed as if she was playing under someone else's rules. Like a step out of the line would result in backlash and punishment.

It was not very nice.

Back when she was a child, her mother would say that a woman could be happily hysteric in the empty confines of her own room, as long as there was no one there to witness. Nesta liked that. Nesta had lived by that.

It was her force, the control. Being unquestionably strong and untouchable.

Cassian saw right through her, as always, but she paid him no mind. It was a bad day; a headaching day, and she couldn’t trouble herself any more worrying over his antics — which would only stress him further, but she didn’t know that yet. Nesta frowned through the night, took perhaps two bites of the fantastic dinner he had cooked for them, waved goodbye with hooded eyes that barely blocked the light and stumbled into her bed.

The covers were fresh, her one pillow soft, her favorite cover a thin sheet of red fabric. It was nice. During the night, the camp was quiet enough: the noise that came through the walls was low and muffled, and she didn't bother to close the windows. They were in the middle of summer and the fresh air was good. She could do this. _Get better overnight._

It took one, two beats.

In her next breath, Cassian's footsteps come thumping through the whole house, the wood groaning back against his weight and putting up a protest — _why was he so damn loud?_ Her ears were ringing and… Another beat, he pushes the bedroom door open and all Nesta can see are his sweet, big brown eyes so unsure as she's seemingly sized down in the bed.

Now, for whatever reason, when he comes closer, it's almost as if his feet are lightly padding through the floor, the _tap tap tap_ a sweet sound that makes her heart feel full inside her chest. And _maybe_ she smiles at him.

"Are you feeling sick?" He whispers for her, kneeling by the bed, hands flat against the mattress. "Huh?"

She bites back that _he already knows that._ Much like she always knows when he's hurt or wounded or inconvenienced; through the equal… _Whatever_ was it that connected them, Cassian should also be able to tell these things apart when it came to her. But Nesta isn't in the mood for wasting time or starting a fight she doesn't have the heart to finish.

"It's just a headache." She whispers back, a lot quieter than him.

And something comes out of his throat; something sweet that sounds an awful lot like cooing, but Nesta can't believe the male was actually capable of doing anything like that. Least of all, directing it to her. Well, maybe if he's just teasing h —

"You've been down all day." Cassian shakes his head, his fingers twitching a little as he brings his hand up to feel her forehead. "But you don't have a fever."

"I know. It's just a headache."

"Hm. Sit down a little bit."

_"What?"_

He's very fast; and with those hands, much more gentle and delicate than what anyone could ever predict. There's a hand on the back of her neck and another around her waist — and tea served on her favorite little teacup, which Nesta hadn't fully noticed until the illyrian is helping her sit in bed.

"It's analgesic. I mean, it's tea, but I put a little drop of medicine in to help you feel a little better."

_"Oh."_

It's like a breath that pushes out of her chest, and if Nesta ever meant to decline, the sudden flare of pulsating pain in her skull makes her reconsider. She takes the teacup from his hands; it really is her favorite, the delicate little thing, and makes to drown everything in a few long sips.

Cassian takes the cup from her hands when she's done, nodding to the soft little "thank you" that passed through her lips and then helped her down again. Without dwelling on anything, Nesta pulled the cover even higher, all the way to her neck, and curled on herself, hoping that the tea and the medicine would help her case fast enough.

That it does.

The pain stays for a second, but Nesta is knocked out like a heavy sack of flour before Cassian is even out of the room, the _tap tap tap_ of his feet the last thing she hears before drifting off.

.

Nesta is not exactly sure of where she is or what has become of the world, but when she is conscious once again, it feels as if she's floating in the softest cloud in the sky.

Not because the laced tea was that good, no. But because she is cocooned in a sea of soft blankets that surround her body and seem to come from all places. Pillows propped in strangely strategic positions that keep her cuddled in a soft little fortress, everything nicely tucked in and fluffed up. And there was more: Nesta is sure she's seen two of his shirts, two of which she's always liked, amongst the blankets. She can see the little camomile flowers sprinkled around her pillow, as if to soothe her in her sleep, and more trinkets along the sheets. There's a book she loves placed over her thigh; one she's convinced him to read one day. There's a jar of sugary candies tucked in between the pillows close to her waist.

It's a nest.

She knows this even before opening her eyes, stirring a little bit and then melting back into the mattress. The uncomfortable pressure in her head was entirely gone, headache over. And it was… Beyond comfortable. Even though it was so strange. And sweet. Had Cassian made that for her? It could have only been him, though Nesta can't imagine why he'd do something like this. Was he bored? Did he think this would have been an inconvenience and then done it on purpose?

 _Ha._ Nesta melts and melts and melts, she's on the softest cloud, she's a woman devoid of headaches and any bad feelings that could have ever pestered her heart. For all of ten minutes, she decides to allow herself to be a girl who marvels at silly things, who wants to be cared for, who enjoys the fact that a handsome man likes her enough to care. Or anyone, at all, ever.

She tries not to disturb the little nest while propping herself up on her elbows, flicking some camomile petals off her hair and picking the candy jar from between the sheets. She liked those: they were tiny and colorful, and Cassian brought them all the way from Velaris whenever he went there. She doesn't open the jar, though, a firm believer that the sugary things shouldn't be eaten until night, and reaches out for what she can already smell in the nightstand.

Propped on top of another book which was also one of her favourites, was her favorite teacup again — the steam visibly rising into the air, the spicy scent soothing her nerves even from the distance. It was hot; Cassian hadn't left for long.

She doesn't sprint for him, though. Nesta doesn't have the heart to disrupt or leave her adorable little nest, only curling further into the sea of blankets once her teacup is secured in between her fingers. A sip, two — it was as if she had entered an alternate and never once breached state of mind where no bad things existed. Nesta felt… Well.

In peace. _Delighted._

She's in a cloud, she's a gush of wind. Peace is colored light blue and gray, the red shade of her favorite cover, the rainbow contained in that sweet candy jar. Peace tastes like spicy tea and fresh summer air in the mountains, it feels soft. It soothes all of her edges, coats them in an invisible loving caress. Peace, it makes her feel whole.

She's there, she sees herself, and it's not a bad sight at all. That woman is a cloud, she's the wind, she's hope. She's so beautiful. In peace, somehow, Nesta is under equal control, and just as untouchable. As in nothing and _absolutely nothing,_ could ever whisk that calm away.

"Nes?"

The sudden call that comes from the hallway makes her jump, almost dropping the hot tea over her own chest, but Nesta manages to balance herself. _Cassian._ He and his ongoing case of terrible, _terrible_ timing. _Fucking hell._ That had been quick.

"Cassian." Her voice is strange as the name passes her lips, heart thumping loudly in her chest from the scare. And also from the prospect of facing the male after cuddling up to the nest he's made.

The image came to her mind, of the hulking winged general fumbling over a mountain of blankets and many pillows to fluff around her body. Gathering trinkets around the house, sorting through her books, willing to sacrifice a whole jar of _their_ favorite candy. Picking fresh camomile from the meadow in the middle of the night. It was — it was adorable. It gave her heart a big squeeze, along with the most sparkling of flutters. And a… Such a girly giggle that bubbles out just as Cassian pushes the bedroom door open.

"Oh, sweetheart." Cassian smiles big when his eyes get caught on her giggling. And this time, his smile is all Nesta can see as he steps further into the room. "Feeling better?"

There's no denying that, so she doesn't bother to push the smile off her face.

 _"Yes."_ Nesta says through another giggle, the chest still shaking, and she downs the rest of the cup before letting it rest over her thigh.

"You look like it. Headache gone?"

 _His smile is so beautiful, his smile is so beautiful_ — Nesta shakes her head to keep the thought away, afraid that it was loud enough for him to hear. And she manages to hold back a blush when he lazily sprawls by the end of the bed, careful not to mess with the nest; the most self satisfied look on his face.

Such a beautiful morning.

"It is. Thank you."

 _Thank you for the tea last night, for the medicine, the sweetness, the flowers, for trying to make me comfortable. For noticing and caring._ She doesn't say any of that, to no one's surprise or amusement, but Cassian hears everything nevertheless. So good, is he.

"That's good." He's the one whispering then, a blush creeping up to his brown cheeks as he awkwardly looks down to the sheets.

"I like the…" And there, like a fool who doesn't know better, Nesta is blushing herself. Looking down much like he did, eyes unwilling to meet his, and the little teacup seems to be the most interesting object in the whole wide world. "The… Nest. I like it a lot."

When her eyes come up again, Cassian is looking at her with eyebrows raised, and she gives him a cheeky smile — Nesta didn't even know she was capable of those. But it earns her a similar smile back, the blush easing from his face as the usual smugness took over in a matter of seconds.

"You look cuddly up there."

"Oh, shut up."

He laughs, the familiar sound one of her favorite things. And it wasn't any laugh, or any _standard_ Cassian laugh. It was the one from when they sat together on the couch after dinner, the laugh from when she helped him sort through the groceries, from breakfast in good mornings, from when they got ready together and talked through the bathroom walls. It was the special laugh limited only to her and precisely no one else in the world. It was her favorite.

And it was part of the nest, Nesta liked to think. His laugh made it incomparably better.

"I bet you're jealous." She teases him, placing the teacup in the nightstand and easing back into the mattress with a smirk of her own, as if the pillow fortress was rival to a glittering throne. "You wish you could be me."

"Small, sick and awkward?"

It should have been offensive, Nesta should have been annoyed and spat something back, say something even worse that would send him either storming out or starting a fight — instead, she laughs. Laughs, wondering if the general too marveled over the fact that there was one laugh in the world that was entire and exclusively his.

"Oh, yes. That's it." She nods vehemently, unable to knock the smile off her lips. "That and my beautiful castle."

An appreciative _"oooh"_ passed his lips, and Nesta soaked in the familiar playfulness of it.

"Such beautiful castle. A fortress of the thickest, tallest walls."

"Yes."

"You must be safe inside."

"I am." Nesta nodded again, too late, finally catching up to his evil intentions. _"Oh, no."_

The slightest idea that anything could disrupt her pretty little nest sent a wave of anguish down her chest — and if anything like that had ever been Cassian's intention, it vanished the second he saw the look on her face.

"I'm not destroying it!" He hurried to explain himself, pushing up on his palms. "Never. I made the nest for you."

Maybe she missed something; maybe there were some underlying footnotes Nesta hadn't caught up to yet. Because taking in the tension on his shoulders, the thick line of his wings' patagium, the serious frown on his face, it was almost as if they were just going through another instinctual, primal fae ritual she still didn't know anything about. And there were so many of them. So just maybe, she didn't really know what was actually going on; or yet. Nesta could ask a couple of questions later, which her illyrian friends would likely have an answer to.

Now… Now she couldn't bother to leave her nest.

"I see." She ground out, watching him through playful narrowed eyes. "Maybe… _Just maybe..._ I could stand to share."

"Oh."

_"Oh."_

_"Oh."_ He shot for a second time, likely the most awkward male in the entire court, and Nesta loved it. She giggled. Again.

And the illyrian smiled, his brown eyes full of light as he made his way up, crawling over the bed — Cassian had tucked her in so nicely, there was absolutely no space left for him. But they pushed the pillows a little bit to the side, Nesta holding up the blankets for him to slide inside; somehow, he fit like a glove. His body was laced to hers like a tight wine, but he fit, arms circling her body and pulling her even closer, if it was possible.

"It's perfect."

Nesta hadn't meant to say anything out loud, but the words danced out of her tongue anyway — and she felt his lips curling against her hair, then a deep inhale that expanded his chest against her side. _Breathing her in._ The fae would call it _scenting._

"That's good."

His wings shuffle for a second. It's all it takes. Then, one of them passes over his figure and hers; the heavy structure like both a shelter and a cloak.

The perfect nest.

**Author's Note:**

> That was it! Hope it makes you as soft as I felt writing it!


End file.
